


Guilt

by Virtual_Reality



Series: Steve and Bucky through the years [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Feels, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Reality/pseuds/Virtual_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a requested scene in my current series that I skimmed over when I probably should have lingered. I'm adding it in as an optional chapter into this series because I have idea where else to put it, and in case anyone else wanted to read it.</p><p>Again, it's optional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Min@ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Min%40ruis).



> It spans over a couple chapters, and doesn't really belong exactly where I put it, just in case there's any confusion.
> 
> This chapter was written for Min@ruis. Hope this a little bit of what you had in mind.
> 
> Also, trigger warning for anxiety, self destructive thoughts, and suicidal thoughts.

The shift was minute, at least it started out like that. A little hesitance in his kiss, a rigidness beneath Steve's palm as he let a hand skim down Bucky's spine to rest at a hip.

His purposeful avoiding of eye contact, and when he was caught looking, averting his eyes quickly. Maybe the shy glances had seemed endearing to Steve, but James' intention had been far from flirting.

James had long since beat the reflex of cringing, but when he was near Steve, he lost all constraint, and couldn't suppress the wince as Steve drew a hand over his shoulder, dropping a kiss on top of his head, whispering something sweet that James' mind rejects instinctively. Steve's endearment is well meant, James knows that, but he could not accept it. He can't afford to let himself absorb the kind words, he can't let himself forget for even a second what he'd done, and slip into the mindset, the lie that he deserves these sweet, gentle touches.

James is unreached by Steve's affection, denying himself the privilege of acceptance, but forcing himself to be open and receptive to these touches, these kisses. To muscle his way past the tightness in his chest, and the shallowness in his breathing, and allow Steve what he wished. It's the least James can do after all Steve's done for him. He owes him this much

_Closed posture, knees tucked against his chest, eyes averted._

Steve's apartment is small. Not so small as to label it claustrophobic, but when he was trying to avoid Steve, he wished there were more places for him to be lost in. He doesn't trust himself in the street yet, there was too much uncertainty. He knows what he's capable of, and when his conscience leaves him at the hands of the Asset...

James isn't willing to take that risk.

So, being Steve's voluntary inmate, he must endure.

_Lips on his neck, a hand sliding down his waist, his hip, along the inside of his thigh._

Clint told him it was normal. That his anxiety was only to be expected. That the struggle with his sex drive wasn't his fault, even going as far as to promise him things would get better, he just needed to give it time. He doesn't know if that's true, but it gives him hope.

Things don't get better, though. Not fast enough for James. He needs to be okay with this. He needs to want it. He needs to be able to respond to him. Steve has given him everything, and James can't even bear to look at him. It wasn't Steve's fault, he radiates such power, such strength, and his eyes had such life in them, it overwhelmed him to be beneath that gaze.

_A hand on his ass in passing, giving a gentle squeeze, or a playful pinch._

His eyes burn from lack of sleep, and a headache seems to be forming as he unconsciously clenches his teeth. He eased himself carefully from Steve's arms and slips to the floor. On his knees, he buries his hands in the plush carpet, and tries to even out his breathing. There's a pinch in his chest he should probably worry about, but he's hardly surprised. His heart always seems to race nowadays, and it seems only fitting that his body would start attacking itself.

Days when Clint was there were the best. James longs for them. The makeshift therapy may be stressful, but at least he could sleep. Clint is, at least mostly straight. He'd made a point to tell James that when he'd asked to stay with him, so, with the exception that things remain chaste, he allowed James to stay with him.

For James, there was no other option than chastity, he's simply too exhausted for anything more than that, and there are gaps in his memories on most of the nights he spends with Clint from falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, collapsing from all this the pent up exhaustion.

_James' hips pulled flush against Steve's, the taste of his mouth ever present on his own, Steve's eager hands on his ass, James' hesitant ones around his waist, trying..._

James didn't want all the touches to stop, he liked feeling wanted, but the tender kisses, the touches that made him feel precious. Those need to go away. James can't handle them. He's not precious, he's not a treasure, and the touches don't translate right in his brain. The sexual touches, too. He just can't anymore. There was too much uncertainty, too much anxiety, and he _can't_. He remembers a few things about his past with Steve, but every memory was laced with confusion, and pain, and a guilt he didn't understand, memories of pulling Steve in, and memories of pushing him away. They're so inconsistent, he can't trust any of them.

_Steve, spooning up behind him, nibbling his ear, sucking at his pulse, whispering soft endearments into his hair._

"You have to tell him," Clint had told him one morning, "This isn't healthy. You need your sleep."

"I can't," James whispers, "What if he gets mad?" He shook his head, "If he doesn't know, he can't be upset with me."

"James, look at me," Clint said, leveling him with his firm, unyielding gaze, "I know it's hard for you to accept this, but Steve loves you. He's your friend. We're all your friends. He wouldn't touch you if he knew it made you uncomfortable."

James looks away, "You don't have to see how happy it makes him to be with me. It would crush him."

"You're not only hurting yourself, James. One day you won't be able to pretend anymore. You need to talk to him."

Clint had been right, of course. James only wished he would've listened. He'd done his best, kept up his charade for as long as he could bear to, even through little bits of intimacy. He thought he'd be able to do it. To suppress his uncertainty, and make it work, but it had all been too much, and he'd shut down, leaving Steve hurt and confused, and he hated himself for it.

Steve had been overly gracious, not pressing for an explanation, but James could see the pain in his eyes, and it killed him inside. His previous fears of Steve's anger had seemed irrational, now, he wished Steve would be angry with him. Anything except this pained silence, the hurt, the concern. He hadn't fixed anything. He'd only taken his problems - his uncertainty, his fear of rejection, his hesitance, and pushed it all on Steve. He knew it was only a matter of time until Steve cornered him.

"Please, tell me what's wrong, Buck. I can't help you unless I know what's going on."

"I'm sorry." James whispered, "I can't."

"Don't you think I have the right to know what's going on?" Steve's posture was closed, arms wrapped around himself. Not crossed, vulnerable. It screwed with James' mind.

With a wince, James turned away from Steve's gaze, though he could still feel it. Guilt was what had gotten him into this mess, and he hates that Steve had used that wording. Of course he deserved an explanation. The only thing he didn't deserve was James. James was a mess, a fucked up mess, and he was broken, and confused, and by no means the type of person Steve Rogers needed in his life, scarring up his image, and making him a target.

James was shaking before he could get an answer out."I don't, I don't like-" he huffs a breath, trying to center himself. "I can't."

Steve's expression softened minutely, and he pulled James into his arms, and this, right fuckin' here, is everything he can't stand

James wants to crawl out of his own skin, escape the brutality in his own mind as his mind rejects the sweet touch, the reflex he fought with every second to get away, to shove Steve back. He presses against Steve's chest, unable to completely repress the urge, "Stop comforting me. Quit touching me like you mean it. Like it means something."

He might as well have acted on his violent thoughts, at least then he wouldn't have to look at Steve's expression.

"I do mean it."

He feels a flush of self hatred invade his body, and pushed Steve away more assertively. He wasn't supposed to say that. James' mind rebells against the mere thought, Comfort. He doesn't deserve to be comforted, he can't be, and he can't suppress his own thoughts, the violence he directed towards himself. He deserved this pain he felt, "I just can't, Steve." James forced out, "I don't like it. It's not you. I'm... Struggling."

_I can't be comforted. I can't respond to you. I can't escape from my own demons. I don't deserve your comfort. I don't deserve relief, sympathy, pity. I can't escape the self destructive nature of my own thoughts. The violence, the agony of relapse._

Steve just looked at him. Not angry: pained, broken, pitying, and fucking sympathetic. Damn his empathy. James is a monster. Doesn't he know that?

Even if James had been subject to coercion, that meant that somewhere along the line, he'd given up, surrendered himself to his tormentors, let himself be controlled until he no longer had a choice, and now, he has to pay for that. Steve couldn't understand his pain. Even he couldn't. It only drove him mad, the agony of his doubt, and he struggled daily against the urge to put a bullet in his brain. Silence it all for good. 

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Steve whispered, softly, tenderly, "I would've understood."

James looked away. Steve could never understand. James would never let him see the horrors he suppressed.

"Am I allowed to ask for a break?"

"A break?"

"Just until I can get myself under control," He added quickly, "I know you have needs, and I know I'm responsible for-"

"Stop that. Stop talking about yourself like that. What's the matter with you?"

"I- I'm having trouble... My libido is... gone, and I... i know I'm not allowed to push my handlers away. Touching... Touching is allowed, but I can't..." he lets his eyes flicker briefly to Steve's, then became silent altogether.

Finally, Steve looks angry.

"Sorry."

Steve levels him with a hard stare. "I'm not your handler, James. You've got to stop thinking about me like that. You don't have handlers anymore, you have friends." James shrinks away from him, but Steve cups a hands under his jaw, and lifts his face, "I care about you, Buck. Don't you know that by now? I love you more than you could possibly imagine. You need to remember that you're free now. As free any one of us."

James wasn't free, he wasn't. His thoughts held him captive. A slave to his own fear, suppressing any chance of freedom.

"I'm helping you because I want to. You don't owe me a single damn thing for that." He scrubbed a hand over his face, "I can't believe you let me touch you when you didn't want it." Steve looked miserable, the memories of a thousand fistfights for the same reason coming back to him. "You've got to communicate better with me."

 "I liked some of the touches," he admits, softly. "but Steve? Please... Don't.. Don't call me that." James whispers, lowering his eyes. "I don't want you to call me James. Not you."

That's enough to make Steve hesitate. "Why not?"

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, "If you give up on finding Bucky, so will I." He chances a small glance up at him.

Steve sighs, looking confused, and tired, and much older than James was used to. "I'm not giving up. But you have to let me help you."

It felt like a shot into the dark to agree. Closing his eyes, and jumping, just hoping that Steve would be there, and James has never trusted anyone so blindly, but it's his only choice now.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this alongside two other chapters, so I hope it was consistent.
> 
> Speaking of two other chapters, I will post an update soon. I had some family problems, and it wasn't safe for me to post anything yesterday. I'm sorry about the wait.


End file.
